Cruise
by joethulhu
Summary: In the middle of an interstellar journey, a cruise ship stops to refuel... And finds the station has been wiped out. The only person on board who seems to know what's going on is an android, who is imprisoned after a strange incident in which it was apparent that he broke the First Law of robotics - and slaughtered an entire colony.


Martin stirred.

The air around him was quiet. He slowly rose to his feet, breathing in a large amount of air. It was dark. He fumbled for a light switch, but found none. He put on his clothing blindly and then pressed the button to release the door to the corridor. The ship was quiet. Everyone else was still asleep. Martin had always risen earlier than others, even in space. To his body, it didn't matter whether it was light outside. Five hours, wake up. No matter when he fell asleep. That was the routine. He looked at his watch. It was already set to Earth time, in order to help him begin to adjust. They still had three weeks until arrival, and today they'd stop over to refuel, but he needed to begin adjusting now. It was approximately four AM. He hadn't checked when he'd gone to bed, so he guessed it to be about eleven. It didn't matter.

He wandered the corridors for a moment, before proceeding to terminal room to make sure there were no problems. No one had died in their sleep. Good. Computers reporting supplies had not diminished while he was asleep, either. Also good. Everything else normal. The ship was fine. Martin breathed a sigh of relief. He always worried too much about the ships under his command. He relaxed and leaned back in his chair. He sat like that, contemplating, for a few hours, just monitoring the ship.

At about eight o'clock someone wandered into the room.

"Captain?"

"Broussard. You're awake."

"Affirmative, Captain."

Dell Broussard was Martin's first mate. He was a very friendly guy, and Martin enjoyed his company, especially in those hours his body had decided to awaken him, but would not let him function on all points. Broussard could take care of the ship when Martin was incapacitated or otherwise unavailable, and would always listen to Martin's orders, or advice, on occasion. They were friends, at the least.

"How's the ship look, Captain?"

"It looks fine, Dell. And you can drop the 'captain' stuff now."

"Right, Martin. Just procedure."

"Everyone else up?"

"Mostly. Had a bit of trouble with some a few of them, but I think they're waking now."

"Good. We dock in an hour to refuel and fill up the oxygen tanks."

"They low?"

"No, but it's just precaution. After this it's a straight three week journey, unless we go into hypersleep, which I wouldn't advise with a travel ship. We don't have enough pods anyway. We weren't planning on it."

"Of course."

Martin turned in his chair to face Dell. Dell was a former colonial marine, and it showed in his weathered features. He had seen a lot of action, and been retired because of a wound sustained to his good arm that caused the reflex action of pulling a trigger to become difficult for him. He could fire off a few shots, and then his arm would become stiff. Today, however, something about him looked different. Not quite the same.

"Did you get enough sleep, Dell?"

Dell smiled nervously.

"Not quite. The missus - she's upset at me not being home sooner."

"Something we all have to live with, running a starcruise line."

"But you don't really know it, Martin. There's a feeling you get when the person you love isn't happy with you. It's horrible."

He was right. Martin had never married. Never had time. There had been a few girlfriends, but nothing more serious. He was also an ex-marine. Retired by choice. He decided he could see the galaxy better as captain of a ship than as a foot soldier. He despised the marines anyway. He was much happier on his own. He'd served in the same squad as Dell, but only gotten to know him after discovering he was signed onto the same ship as Martin. Martin, being the more experienced in flight, was assigned to be captain. This was their third outing.

"I'm sorry, Dell. You're right, I don't understand. Maybe she'll feel better once you're back."

"Yeah. Maybe."

Dell sighed and settled into the first mate's chair, next to Martin. He ran a hand through his still-cut, jet-black hair, touching the small scars on his face. He ran a diagnostic on the engines, something Martin had forgotten, and always forgot. They checked out fine, however, and there was no problem. Another person walked into the room.

"There you two are."

It was another executive officer, Abira Hunter. She was the highest-ranking female officer on the ship, and third in command overall. She had a master key to every door on the ship, and she would take over if both Martin and Dell were unavailable. Martin also knew she had a soft spot for Dell, married as he might be. Dell, however, was ever faithful, and spurned her advances.

"Are we needed, Abby?" asked Martin

That was what they called her. She wasn't too fond of it, but it let Martin and the other officers feel friendlier, which was necessary on long, interstellar voyages. Granted, the longest they'd been on as a crew so far was a little under two months, compared to the years usually experienced, but Martin still wanted his crew to know they could trust him, and the best way to do that was to befriend them.

"I think we sped up in the night," Abira told them. "The planet's in view."

They followed her to the viewing platform. The planet was indeed in view, and closer even than he'd expected. They were maybe twenty minutes from entering the atmosphere.

"Hmm. Odd," said Dell. He'd grabbed some synthetic coffee (they'd run out of the real stuff weeks ago) from the kitchen on his way, and was nursing it. It was basically just caffeine and water, but it'd keep him awake.

"Better us head to the deck, then," Martin said.

Sandy Melkonis, the communications officer, Cleave Hunter, the navigator, and Jay Faust, the engineer, were all waiting on deck for Martin's arrival.

"I've taken the liberty to change the course slightly in order to land flat on the surface and the precise latitude and longitude we were given, captain," said Cleave. "And I've had Jay switch the engines to landing mode."

"Well done," said Martin. "Smart. ETA, then?"

"Twenty-three minutes until landing."

"Good."

Dell sipped his coffee more.

"Anyone else want some?" he asked. The entire crew shook their heads in unison.

"I don't know how you can drink that shit," Sandy said. "It tastes like dirt, and gives me migraines."

Dell grunted and took another sip.

"Oi, don't start that, guys," said Martin. "Don't mock Dell's defective taste buds."

That got a chuckle out of them. A good start to the morning. Martin was beginning to finally awaken.

They docked at a small station. The actual refueling would occur shortly, the gas having to be transported from the nearby repository. Martin announced to the tourists on the ship that they would be let off for the stopover, lasting approximately three hours, but they were instructed not the leave the station. The planet itself was not yet fully habitable. The atmosphere processor had not yet made its full cycle, and currently only a few stations were qualified for sustaining human life, the oxygen being contained in a large, semi-permeable, plastic-like bubble. Martin opened the hatch and let out the passengers. They poured out; one huge, multi-color mass. Martin sighed at the uselessness of humanity, and then relaxed in his chair.

"Should we check on the prisoner?"

Sandy's voice broke Martin out of his reverie.

"Yes, yes, that'd probably be a good idea. Have Dell do it; he's trained to handle the type."

"Right. I still don't understand how an android could be created with such a horrible defect."

"He broke the First Law. Not even the original First Law. The modified one."

"'An android is programmed to be unable to kill, or by inaction, allow the killing of a human being.'"

"As opposed to just harming. That's why robot surgeons can exist."

"So he killed someone? What was it like?"

"He didn't just kill someone. He massacred a colony. Nasty business. Gore splattered all over the walls. Several of them, it looked like he'd reached into their chests and ripped out their ribs from inside. Nasty business. Then, he wiped the colony with gas to kill any last stragglers. He's a monster. I don't know why they didn't destroy him immediately. Something about research on his brain, finding out how he went wrong. I don't understand scientists."

"Neither do I. Oh, I almost forgot to get Dell. I'll be back."

Sandy walked away. Jay called over to Martin.

"A tourist is calling the ship, sir."

"What for?"

"I dunno, he says he wants to talk to the captain. He sounds upset."

Martin sighed. This couldn't be good. He grabbed the com unit from Jay and put it on, activating the transmitter.

"What seems to be the problem?"

"They're dead."

The blood drained from Martin's face.

"Uh, could you repeat that, sir?"

"There were supposed to be live men operating this station, right? Not bodies?"

"I'm not sure I understand you."

"They've been killed! All of them! There are bodies in the corners! Their stomachs are... Exploded! I don't know! We're coming back on the ship!"

Martin had already heard the yelling of the crowd running back onboard.

"Alright, sir. Please, remain calm and return to the vessel in an orderly fashion. A squad of crewmembers trained for this will be dispatched to the station to investigate."

The passenger shut off the com. Martin put his head in his hands.

"I lied. You're not trained for this, only Dell and I. And we have no weapons on the ship, except for a cattle prod for controlling the android."

Cleave spoke up.

"I have limited experience, sir. I'll go down with you and Dell to investigate."

"And what kind of experience is that?"

Cleave turned away, and Martin thought he might have become red in the face.

"Sims, sir. Combat sims."

Martin sighed.

"That's just wonderful. There's a crisis, and we've only got two washed-up marines, one of which can barely shoot, and a guy trained on Call of Duty. No offense, Cleave. It's still better than nothing."

Meanwhile, Dell was checking on the android. It struggled against its restraints, synthetic blood coming out of its mouth were it had chewed on its own lips.

"You still good in there, robot?"

"Don't mock me, Broussard. According to your government, I killed more than a hundred men. What makes you think I won't break the Law just one more time?"

"This foot-thick plexiglass is pretty convincing, honestly," Dell said, tapping it with his knuckles. "I'd like to see you try getting out of your restraints, and then bashing in this window just to get at my throat."

"Don't test me."

Dell smiled a little. There was no way the android could hurt him. He was strapped into a chair that looked much like an operating table, in a small, six-foot in diameter holding cell, one of four the ship had, and behind the aforementioned plexiglass. The ship was safe from him. For this reason, they'd been asked to transport him to Earth from his previous tenement on the vacation planet, where he'd done little but sit in a cell and say mean things to the guards (much as he was doing now). He was a member of the old, defunct like of androids designed by one of the Weylands, Michael Bishop. Androids of this model were usually referred to simply as "Bishop". This one's call number was later in the production, but it was still an old model. This was probably the reason it malfunctioned, Dell thought, and that all old models should be taken off of the market. But he knew scientists, and they needed to do their poking around before they'd feel good letting him be destroyed.

At this moment, Dell's personal com unit blipped at him. He waved a hand at it and activated transmission.

"Broussard responding."

"Dell, something's gone wrong on the station. Men have died. I'm taking you and Cleave to go scout it out."

"Righto. Be down in a moment."

Dell switched off the com, and gave the android a glare, before hurrying down to the exit.


End file.
